


hypersomnia

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hair Brushing, M/M, Post Game, basically during sorey's sleep, but pre epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 07:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10635231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: Sorey’s face doesn’t stir the slightest bit even as Mikleo keeps going, brushing the hair over and over, running his fingers through it. Somewhere along the line, it had become a ritual.





	

**Author's Note:**

> wakey wakey eggs and mikleo's tears⏰⏰⏰⏰

The temple - Mikleo refuses to call it a tomb, no matter how much time passes - is just as light and warm and welcoming as usual. Midday sun rays stream in through the enchanted hole in the ceiling, painting the dark stone a soft shade of yellow, the shadows moving in a wild tandem with the wind playing with the trees above.

Mikleo's steps are soft as he walks up to the middle of the cave-like room, setting his bag down by the stone bed.

The temple isn't big, doesn't have any reason to. Despite that, it used to be bare. But now, nearly a hundred years later, the small space feels almost like a usual bedroom, with a shelf lining one of the walls, full of books, ancient and new, even unfinished ones.

Stacks of maps and trinkets and tiny, colorful stones litter the shelves and, honestly, every single free surface. They look like a mess, but in reality they're all organized; whether by age, location or importance. Mikleo made sure of that.

The water seraph shucks off his coat and leaves it in a neat pile on the floor, scooting himself to sit at the edge of the bed.

Though 'bed' is a too generous descriptor for the raised slab of stone, no matter the inscriptions it bears. It hadn't even been a week after the battle that Mikleo decided it wasn't anywhere close to comfortable and brought a stack of comforters and pillows, which are now arranged underneath the deathly still human figure.

“Hey,” he breathes out, quiet in the tranquility of the temple. He reaches out, brushing the backs of his fingers over Sorey’s cheek, featherlight. The skin is as pale as it had been all these years, and just like usual, it reminds Mikleo of the times when Sorey was this close to bleeding out, the color drained out of him just like now. But he’d grown used to it, over the years.

Not that he doesn’t want the color to return.

Preferably as soon as possible.

His hand moves over to Sorey’s hair, running over the long bangs. “I missed you,” he mutters, letting go of the strand twirled around his finger in favor of standing up and grabbing a hairbrush from the crowded table.

It’s golden, and bears one of the soft feathers at its end. Mikleo carries it back to the bed and sits at the head of it. It only takes a moment to position Sorey’s head from the pillow to his own lap, and then he’s carding his fingers through the long hair, brush following the motions of his fingers as he untangles any kinks and makes sure it’s smooth and soft.

Sorey might want to cut it when he wakes up, but that’s a decision for him to make. Mikleo had let his own hair grow out, like a childish way to feel closer to Sorey while he slumbers and Mikleo travels all over.

Sorey’s face doesn’t stir the slightest bit even as Mikleo keeps going, brushing the hair over and over, running his fingers through it. Somewhere along the line, it had become a ritual.

“I found amazing ruins at the outskirts of Marlind,” he says, “Can you believe it? We’ve been there, and didn’t notice anything. Not even the people noticed anything, and they were living right above it. It’s amazing…”

He breathes, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Sorey’s. The boy is still as warm as he’d always been, blood still thumps beneath his ashened skin, the magic keeping him like he really is only asleep.

“I can’t wait to return there with you. There’s an underwater lake right in the middle of the biggest hall there, you’ll love it. The water reflects all the colorful walls— oh, the walls! They look like they’ve been carved from precious gems, but, there are no gems that size. I still haven’t figured out what they are. And there are stalactites over the lake, and when the draft comes through, they sing like a xylophone. You will _definitely_ love it…”

Mikleo breathes out in a rush. He takes a shaky breath and bites down at his bottom lip. He tries to hold his tears in.

“You will…”

He really does.

His hands grip at Sorey’s hair as he sobs once, shoulders shivering. Silent tears stream down his cheeks and pitter patter onto Sorey’s cheeks. Mikleo hiccups and wipes at his eyes furiously. It takes a few minutes, but he eventually calms down and wipes the tears from Sorey’s cheeks with a thumb as well.

He chuckles breathlessly, leaning over to grab his bag and pull out his journal and a quill. “Sorry, that was embarrassing. I just miss you, you know?”

Mikleo shakes his head, his curls flying left and right, and then moves so he sits comfortably, Sorey’s head nestled on his thighs. The journal takes its place in his lap, the pages rustling as he flips through them.

The ink bottle is set next to them and Mikleo dips the quill into it, even though he can feel the headache from his crying settling in already. He starts scritching where he’d left off, the temple falling into silence again.

Sorey’s head is comfortable where it rests on him, reminding he’s still there.


End file.
